


wake me when you need me

by jennycaakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 10:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10694778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes
Summary: Nate has nightmares. Monty has nightmares. They figure the nightmares will go away if they have one another to confide in. At night. In bed. Together.





	wake me when you need me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katsumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsumi/gifts).



> well I did an ask-prompt where people would send me fic titles and I'd say what I would write if that was the fic and so, here we are, many words later. kat's title prompt was: I used to battle all the nights alone - I've changed the title buuut SAME THING

Nate wakes with a start.

There used to be someone there beside him, scrambling to throw his arms around him and hold him close, shush him back to sleep, distract him with kisses. But Nate reaches out into the dark and finds that side of the bed empty and cold. His heart is racing and his mind feels dark and the other side of the bed is _empty and cold._

He should’ve moved back in with his father after the war. He’s still pretty young, and it’s not like he’s seeing anyone, and David’s alone now too. At least if Nate woke up in the middle of the night in his dad’s quarters he’d be able to _see_ someone else, listen to someone else’s breathing, match it until he fell back to sleep.

Instead he’s all alone, his fingers tracing the side of the bed that someone else used to sleep on, unable to get control of his heart rate.

 _It’s over_ _,_ Nate reminds himself sharply. There are no more Mountain Men, there’s no more soul sucking AI, the acid rain has stopped. It’s over. But his heart won’t stop pounding and nothing will calm it. He throws the blankets off of him and swings his legs over the side of his bed.

Nate wanders the halls until he can breathe again. Then he returns to his quarters, climbs back in bed, and waits for sleep to take him.

* * *

Nightmares are sort of a daily routine with Monty.

It doesn’t matter how great his day was, how much progress he got done on this project or that, how much he laughed with his friends. None of it matters. He ends up waking up in the middle of the night anyway, a cry lodged deep in his throat, seeing nothing but red.

The room is dark. He can hear Jasper breathing, a light snore coming from him, and that’s comforting. Monty tries to match his breathing. Typically it works, but tonight it feels like something is crawling beneath his skin.

He climbs out of his bed as quietly as he can, not wanting to wake his friend who is no stranger to nightmares either, and pulls on his shoes. Soon he’s wandering the hallways of Arkadia, dark and quiet as most everyone is sleeping, and there’s something comforting about that. This feels like routine for him. He’d rather suffer in silence than subject Jasper to his terrors. Jasper’s been through enough. Monty refuses to make it any worse.

Normally Monty heads outside to look at the stars, remind himself that he’s safe, but tonight he walks through the halls. It’s mostly silent, so to hear footsteps is alarming. He pauses, pressing himself back against the wall, and watches as Miller lazily takes the fork in the hallway. He looks exhausted, deep bags under his eyes, and walks as though he’s wasting time.

Monty squints and wonders what Miller could be wasting time for. But then he remembers why he’s wandering the halls, too, and considers that maybe Miller’s doing the same thing.

He intends to forget it. Seriously. But the next day at the dining hall, after Raven has scooped up everyone’s plates and Jasper has vanished to hound Bellamy about something, leaving Miller and Monty alone at the table, Monty clears his throat.

Miller arches an eyebrow in response.

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” Monty asks.

Miller frowns. “What?”

“I, uh--” suddenly Monty feels his face grow warm. Who would want to talk about nightmares publicly? Everyone’s fighting their own demons. “Never mind.”

Miller’s looking at him now though, questions in his eyes and a frown still on his face. Monty fiddles with the collar of his shirt, picking off pretend lint to encourage a subject change.

But then Miller answers, “Yeah.” Monty’s eyes lift to him again. “I tried that tea that Indra gave Octavia a while back,” he mutters, “but no dice.”

Monty hesitates before asking, “Nightmares?”

Miller’s quiet for a moment, and Monty wonders if it really _is_ time to change the subject now. But Miller just sighs. “I used to have Bryan,” he says, his voice detached and empty. “It’s just harder, now.”

Monty can understand that. He used to have Harper, too. But Harper’s moved out and Monty’s back in with Jasper, who, while they share a room, is all the way across it on the other side. Sleeping next to someone just makes things so much _easier_ _._ Knowing there’s another person there, that you’re not alone in the world, makes Monty feel safer somehow. He nods and Miller sighs. A sigh that shows Miller understands.  

And then--an idea.

“What if we slept together?” Monty asks.

Miller’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead. “Never thought you were so forward, Green,” he says. There’s a hint of a smile there, all sly and dangerous, and Monty snorts.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. Miller’s smirk fades and it must be because he knows what Monty’s thinking. After a glance over his shoulder Monty turns back to him. “It’s easier,” he says. “Sharing a bed with someone. Don’t you think?”

Miller swallows. “I guess.”

“Just until it passes,” Monty says. Miller’s eyebrows pull together slightly, but he doesn’t shake his head. “What do you say?”

* * *

See, the problem with sharing a bed with Monty to fight off nightmares is that Nate actually really likes Monty. He likes Monty a lot. He’s liked Monty, to some degree, since they sat on the edge of a small bunk bed back in Mount Weather and Monty elicited a smile from Nate that was brighter than it needed to be.

Another problem: sharing a bed is intimate. Especially for Nate, who likes to wrap himself around whoever it is he’s sharing a bed with. He likes the warm mornings with sunlight streaming through the windows and he likes nuzzling into his partner’s neck and he likes breathing them in while their hearts beat as one.

He’s read too much poetry. Whatever.

But perhaps the biggest problem: Nate _needs_ this. He needs a good night of sleep. He needs to be alert when he’s working with the guard and he needs to not plow through Arkadia’s coffee supply in a week and he needs Bellamy to stop looking at him like he pities him. He needs to sleep. So he needs a person there, someone to match his breathing with, that can lull him back to bed.

Thus, Monty.

It’s going to be unbearably awkward. But he needs it. And by the way Monty shows up that night, flannel pajama pants and all, it’s clear Monty needs it too. Nate shuffles out of the way and Monty shuffles inside, looking up and around Nate’s small quarters. They feel bigger, now that Bryan’s moved out, with half of everything. Monty doesn’t comment.

“So what’s your routine?” Monty asks, staring straight at Nate’s bed. “I like to tinker. Calms me down.”

“I read,” Nate tells him. “Same thing.”

“Okay,” Monty says with a smile. Suddenly, all the nerves of awkwardness rush out of him like that had no business being there in the first place. Of course Monty would relieve the tension. There’s no malicious intent here. It’s just Monty, being warm. Monty, needing sleep. “So I’ll tinker,” he says, digging out a small circuit board from his pocket, “and you’ll read.”

Nate settles down on his couch and pulls out his book, a thick leather-bound one that he’s slowly making his way through, and Monty sits beside him. The silence isn’t nearly as bad as Nate was prepared for.

Monty makes his way to bed first, asking Nate for side preference (which he has none) before claiming the right. Nate, not wanting to wake Monty when he climbs in later, decides to end his chapter early and join Monty in bed. It’s a big enough bed that they’re not touching, and that’s nice. Nate, despite wanting to be with Monty to some degree, is in no rush. He’ll stick to his side easily.

“I jump,” Monty says once they’ve settled into the silence. “Sometimes.”

“That’s okay,” Nate responds. “Me too, I think.”

“Hmm.” Again, the silence returns. It’s immediately soothing, hearing someone breathing beside him. “What were you reading?” Monty asks, his voice soft.

“Ah…” Nate trails off, wrinkling his nose in the dark. “Fairytales,” he answers. Monty snorts a little, mostly breathy, and turns on his side. “Raven found the book in some old bunker,” Nate carries on. “It’s classics. Rapunzel. Cinderella. Hansel and Gretel.”

“That’s neat,” Monty says. Again, silence. “Would you ever read out loud?”

Nate hesitates. “You want me to read to you?” he asks. Monty welcomes back the silence by not giving an answer. “I could,” Nate says. “To help you fall asleep.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” Monty asks. “It’s…” he trails off, too, almost searching for what to say. “Jasper’s usually awake longer than me,” Monty tells him. “Muttering to himself about something.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Nate says. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and moves back to the living area so he can grab the book he left on the table. “What’d you tell Jasper when you left for here?” he asks, returning to the bed. He flicks on the light by his side and Monty squints at how bright it is. He already looks so comfortable, wrapped in Nate’s blankets.

“The truth,” Monty answers, nestling into the pillows. His eyes are shut again. “Read me one that I don’t know,” he hums.

“So demanding,” Nate murmurs, but he’s smiling. Of course he’s smiling. Monty makes him smile so, absurdly much. “Rumplestiltskin?” Nate asks.

“What a who?”

Nate smiles again. “Alright, perfect.” He pages through the book until he reaches the chapter. Nate clears his throat with a cough. _“_ _Once there was a miller who was poor_ _,”_ he reads.

“A miller?” Monty asks, a fake gasp in his voice.

“Shush,” Nate reprimands him. Monty smiles. So content and warm. _“_ _Once there was a miller who was poor_ _,”_ he starts again, “ _but who had a beautiful daughter.”_

Monty falls asleep a few pages in.

* * *

Under some grace of God, there are no nightmares that first night. It feels almost unbelievable that they’re allowed it. Monty thinks it might be nerves that keeps the terror at bay.

They’re not so lucky the second night.

Monty wakes up to Miller shaking him awake. “Hey, hey,” he’s saying gently. It takes a moment for the world to settle in around him. “Monty,” Miller murmurs, _“_ _breathe.”_

It take Monty another second to realize that he’s gripping Miller’s forearm. They’re in Miller’s room, that’s why the lighting is different and the humming of the generator isn’t as loud. They’re farther from it here. But there’s screaming in his ears, Monty’s own screaming from his dreams. His hands feel like they’re _burning._

“Water,” he rasps. Miller nods immediately and leaps out of bed, hurrying toward the bathroom to fill up a glass with water for Monty. “It was my mom,” Monty chokes out as Miller returns. “It was that fight, all over again. It was--” Monty pulling the trigger, again and again and again, watching the life drain out of her.

Miller pries open Monty’s hands and forces the glass into them. “Drink,” he commands, but there’s gentleness in his tone. It’s a rare sight, seeing Miller so gentle. Monty forces the cup to his lips and drains it easily. Miller reaches out, his hand stretched for Monty’s cheek, before he changes his mind and drops it back to his side. “You okay?” he asks.

Monty nods. And he is. His legs aren’t twitching like they used to. There’s no desperate urge to wander. He just inhales. And exhales. And inhales. And exhales. He nods again.

“I’m okay,” he answers. “Let’s lay down.”

Miller lays down and Monty follows. Both of them turned on their side, looking at each other. That’s how they fall asleep.

* * *

Nate’s nightmares aren’t like Monty’s, they learn in time. Monty startles. He shakes. He shouts. Screams crawl out of him before he can stop them. Nate doesn’t. Nate wakes in a cold sweat. Nate’s heart stops in his chest and jolts him awake.

When Monty has nightmares, Nate almost always wakes up. Sometimes, Nate’s the one waking _Monty_ up before it gets too loud. But Monty very rarely wakes up for Nate’s.

Nate doesn’t need him to.

He said it in the beginning and he stands by it. He just needs someone by his side. Monty does that. Monty breathes steadily in his sleep and Nate falls back asleep, matching Monty’s breathing. Slow. Soft. Warm. With Monty by his side it’s all okay. That’s what Nate needs.

Today it’s just the same. Nate wakes up, an aching in his chest that nestles deep into his bones to the point where he can’t breathe, and Monty stays asleep.

But today is different, too, because Monty’s close. He’s _close_ _._ He’s so close that the moonlight in the window lights up Monty’s face and all of his gentle features. The curve of his cheeks, his nose. Monty shifts and only then does Nate realize his fingers are resting gently against Nate’s shirt.

Nate knows that maybe this isn’t the same for Monty. He knows what it was like to struggle through the nights alone. He knows that nightmares can be vivid and dangerous and feel very, very real. But when Monty sighs, nuzzling closer to Nate’s chest, his fingers curling against Nate’s shirt, he doesn’t even care. He just wants this moment to last forever.

That’s when Monty jumps, his fingers balling into a fist in Nate’s shirt, his eyes flying open.

“Monty,” Nate whispers his name again and again until Monty realizes where he is. “Breathe, _breathe_ _.”_ Monty’s eyes fill with tears and then he’s there, flinging himself around Nate’s shoulders, burying himself into Nate’s chest, hiccuping for air. “You’re okay,” Nate tells him. Monty needs to hear it. “You’re with me. Okay? Just--breathe with me.” He strokes Monty’s back until Monty nods, clearly trying to match his breathing to Nate’s. “Inhale,” he whispers, breathing deeply. He holds it. “Exhale. Come on.”

“Can’t,” he chokes

“Monty,” he whispers. “Monty. Monty.” He sniffles and buries himself closer. “Monty, breathe.”

“Miller,” Monty rasps. “I c-can’t…” he peels back, just enough for Nate to see his face. “I have to see Jasper.”

“You have to see Jasper?” Nate asks, and Monty nods. “Okay. Let’s go see Jasper.”

“He--you don’t--”

“Let’s go see Jasper,” Nate says again, his voice softer. “I’ll walk with you. It’s fine.”

Monty nods again, swatting at his eyes, and pushes himself out of bed. He scrambles to get his shoes on and Nate hurries too until they’re quickly walking down the hallways of Arkadia toward Monty’s old room. He keys in easily, casting a worried glance over his shoulder at Nate lingering back, when Jasper sits up in a start.

“--corporate policies,” Jasper gasps. He blinks hard. He’s fallen asleep at his desk, blueprints scattered everywhere. “Monty?”

Monty sprints forward, his arms out, and throws them around Jasper’s shoulders. Jasper laughs a little, a look of concern shot in Nate’s direction, but Nate just shrugs. It’s obvious what Monty’s nightmare was about--losing Jasper in some way--but he doesn’t know the details. He doesn’t need to. Not if Monty doesn’t want to share.

“Just wanted to see you,” Monty murmurs.

“Sorry to interrupt your sleepover,” Jasper says with a grin and a wink. Nate ducks his head, pressing his lips together hard enough to stop himself from smiling.

Monty murmurs something to Jasper, who nods in response, before shuffling back to Nate in the doorway. Nate tips his head at Jasper, who winks again, before they start back to Nate’s quarters. “Sorry,” Monty says softly when they get there, when they’re finally climbing back into bed. “For waking you.”

“Don’t be. This is why we do this.” Monty lets out a long breath before Nate reaches out, gesturing forward. “Come here.” Monty looks hesitant but Nate wiggles his fingers again, and Monty moves across the bed, closer.

Despite the first moment of awkwardness, Monty presses his forehead to Nate’s chest. They’re breathing in time with one another and Nate’s not sure if he’s matching Monty’s breathing or vice versa. “I feel like it’s always you comforting me,” Monty whispers.

Nate lifts his arm to drape it over Monty’s middle. “You do more for me than you think,” Nate whispers back.

Monty inches closer. “Wake me when you need me,” Monty nearly pleads.

Nate just holds him close.

* * *

With the world not threatening to end every ten minutes anymore, the delinquents have a lot of spare time. Most importantly, they have a lot of spare time to have fun. Which usually includes alcohol.

Tonight’s no different. It’s a weekend and David doesn’t like to schedule Nate to work on the weekends because he’s still young, so he’s out with his friends by the fire. Clarke’s to his left and Bellamy’s to his right and they all have cups of moonshine in their hands.

“Stop staring,” Clarke finally mutters.

Nate frowns. “Excuse me?”

“You’re staring at Monty,” she says. Nate scoffs, and Bellamy snorts into his cup. “Every since you two started sleeping together--”

“We aren’t sleeping together,” Nate cuts her off sharply.

“--you literally can’t be in the same space as him without staring,” Clarke finishes. Nate’s still frowning. He looks to Bellamy as though for back-up but Bellamy shakes his head. Nate scoffs again. Bellamy's _always_ taking Clarke's side these days. “Will you tell him how you feel before I do?”

“Oh--fuck off, Griffin,” Nate says. “You don’t know anything.”

Bellamy knocks back the rest of his drink. “Don’t be an ass, Miller,” he says.

“Me!” He sounds affronted. “I hate both of you.”

“You like Monty,” Bellamy says, pulling out his Gentle Leader voice that Nate hates because of how stupidly reasonable it sounds. “That’s fine. Clarke and I just think that you should tell him. She jokes, of course, because she would never put Miller on the spot like that. But conversations about feelings are encouraged. Right, Clarke?”

"Yeah, yeah." 

Nate hates when they team up on him like this. They both have claim to Nate as one of their best friends (Clarke and Nate from their days as Ark Royalty, practically running Alpha station, and Bellamy and Nate from those early days when he put his trust in Nate as his Second) which is awful, because Nate knows they talk about him when he’s not around. Like they’ve clearly done. With this.

“I’m not telling him,” Nate grumbles. “It’ll make things weird.”

“Because sharing a bed isn’t weird,” Clarke argues.

“It’s _not_ _,”_ Nate stresses. Not really. “You two have each other. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“We have each other because we’re dating,” Bellamy points out. “That’s why we share a bed.”

“Among other reasons,” Clarke adds. Bellamy smirks and Nate decides that he needs to be more drunk than he is. “Feelings are scary,” she says, reaching for something similar to Bellamy’s reassuring voice.

“Neither of you have any room to talk to me about acting on _feelings_ _,”_ Nate huffs. He finishes his drink and stands to get another. “Hypocrites.”

“Hey, we got our act together,” Clarke calls after him.

“Eventually,” Nate calls back.

He returns with another drink and thankfully the two of them have changed the subject. They’re right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Nate wants to talk about it. He spends the rest of the night listening to them go back and forth about some sort of meeting they have with Roan in a few weeks and--as Clarke so kindly pointed out earlier--staring at Monty.

Nate loses sight of him for a brief moment before there’s a tap on his shoulder and Monty’s there behind him, all flushed skin and pink mouth and crazy dimples. “Ready to go?” Monty asks.

Nate doesn’t even have to look at Bellamy or Clarke to know that _both of them_ are smirking.

“Ready,” Nate answers.

* * *

It feels unfair to Monty, that Miller never really wakes him when he’s having nightmares. He insists he doesn’t need anything but Monty has a lot of love to give, okay?

Tonight Miller gasps loud enough that Monty does wake, turning to find Miller with his head in his hands breathing heavily. “Miller?”

“I’m fine.”

“Hey.” Monty reaches out at once, his hand resting on Miller’s arm causing him to jump. “Hey, it’s just me.”

“I know,” he rasps. “Sorry.” The sound of the generator is soft, especially compared to Miller trying gain control of his breathing. “Can I just--”

“Anything,” Monty insists. Miller turns to him, hesitant, but Monty nods again. Miller reaches out now, his large hand resting over Monty’s chest, right over his heart. It takes Monty a moment to realize Miller’s trying to match his breathing. “Let’s lay down,” Monty whispers.

He covers Miller’s hand with his own and Miller closes his eyes, focusing.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“About what?”

“I don’t--anything, Monty,” Miller practically pleads. “Just--”

“Distraction,” Monty says. “Got it. Um. So.” It’s a lot harder to think of things to say on the spot. “Uhhh.”

Miller laughs, but it’s a bit strangled. “Wow, you’re great at this.”

“Jasper and I went on a trip to the dropship the other day,” Monty says, finally latching onto something. “Right? We fought there a while back. Super intense. But this time we just went and got drunk and it was really cool that we’re all still alive and not dead and that was great.”

Miller eases a bit, nodding in silent agreement.

“But Harper wanted to come too,” Monty says, “which was weird, seeing as any time we’re like sort-of alone together we don’t really talk. We said no, which might’ve been rude. But Jasper and I still have some stuff to work on. And it would’ve been awkward.”

“Do you miss her?” Miller asks. It’s almost so soft that Monty doesn’t hear it.

He readjusts his hand to grab Miller’s just a tough tighter. “No. We were always better off as friends.” Monty’s not sure why but suddenly there’s a thought nagging in the back of his mind. “Do you miss Bryan?”

Miller laughs again, much less strangled. “You’re funny,” he says.

“Why’s that funny?”

Miller’s eyes crack open and there’s a smile there on his face, bright enough to lighten their dark room. “Maybe I miss the Bryan I knew on the Ark. He probably misses that version of me too. But we--Jesus, Monty, we’re just too different now. It wasn’t what either of us needed.”

“Bet you miss having someone after the nightmares though,” Monty points out.

Miller’s fingers curl against Monty’s chest. “I don’t have to miss that anymore.”

* * *

Jasper laughs when Monty finally makes it back to the lab, and Raven rolls her eyes fondly. “I can’t believe you left it at Miller’s place,” Jasper says when Monty finally settles back down.

“It’s not really just Miller’s place,” Raven says, reaching for the blueprints Monty brought, “is it? Not anymore.”

It’s been a couple of months since they started this whole nightmare comfort thing, and they’re not wrong. Monty basically lives there now. He has clothes there and his things are there and that’s where he sleeps. With Miller.

Monty ignores Raven’s insinuation. “It’s still Miller’s quarters,” Monty says.

“When you two sleep together,” Jasper says, snatching the pen out of Raven’s hand to make an edit on the blueprints she’s looking at, “are you really just _sleeping?”_

“Yes, Jasper,” Monty mutters.

“Like,” Raven snatches the pen back. “You haven’t made out at all?”

“No,” Monty says, with feeling. “We’re just friends.”

“Who snuggle,” Raven says. She’s grinning. So is Jasper. Monty hates his friends. “Haven’t you thought about it?” she asks, and Monty’s instantly shaking his head.

They don’t understand. It’s fine that they don’t understand, really, because at least Miller does. Jasper’s been through his own personal hell and has figured himself out again. Raven, too. But Monty still has parts of him that ache, and so does Miller, and that’s okay. Sleep is difficult. Less so when they’re together.

“Like at _all_ _?”_ Jasper presses.

“I haven’t thought about it,” Monty says firmly.

Raven rolls her eyes. “I have,” she says. “And Miller’s not even into girls.” Jasper laughs and Raven smirks and Monty shakes his head again. He’s happy they’ve found some semblance of peace. Happiness. Jasper’s back to being goofy and Raven’s been flirting with Jackson on the sly and things are good. For all of them.

“Maybe you should,” Jasper says. “Think about making out with Miller, that is. Clarke’s pretty sure he’s into you.”

“Clarke?” Monty challenges.

“They’re like, weird friends,” Raven elaborates. “She has vast Miller knowledge.”

Monty scoffs. “Miller’s not into me.”

“He could be,” Jasper says.

“It’s just so we don’t have nightmares,” he grits out. “That’s the whole reason we’re sleeping _beside_ one another.” He has to make the distinction. Because if he says _with_ then they’ll just start up all over again. “So we don’t have nightmares.”

“Sure,” Raven drawls. “That’s it.”

* * *

 _“The king wondered how Hans had been able to take a hundred hares to graze without losing any of them_ _,”_ Nate reads, _“_ _but he still would not give him his daughter yet, and said he must now bring him a feather from the griffin's tail.”_

“This is the weirdest,” Monty murmurs from Nate’s side.

Nate fights off his grin. “You chose _The Griffin_ for tonight,” he reminds him.

Monty’s lips pucker. “I wanted to see if Clarke would like it. Because it’s called _The Griffin.”_

“Oh?”

“So you could read it to her,” Monty says with a yawn. He’s clearly very sleepy, and very sleepy Monty makes Nate’s chest do funny things.

“I’m not going to read to Clarke,” Nate says.

Monty pouts. “Raven says Clarke has Vast Miller Knowledge. I thought that meant you were friends.”

Nate tries to fight it, but a laugh escapes him anyway. “We are friends,” he says, reaching out and carefully brushing his fingers through Monty’s hair. They’ve passed some sort of boundary now, one that can’t exactly be defined. One where it’s okay for Nate to brush his fingers through Monty’s hair. “Doesn’t mean I want to read to her.”

“You read to me,” Monty mumbles.

 _You asked me to_ _,_ Nate thinks. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks back to the book and picks up where he left off.

* * *

“Miller,” Monty whispers. His entire body beside Monty is tense, his eyebrows pulled together tightly, murmuring softly to himself. He’s having a nightmare. Monty knows he’s having a nightmare. But he’s never had to wake Miller up from a nightmare before because they hardly ever wake Monty up himself. Today Monty was just _awake_ when Miller started to shake.

A touch louder. _“_ _Miller_ _.”_ Monty shakes his shoulder gently but it’s not enough, and Miller’s still suffering inside his own head. What does Miller dream about? Nothing good, clearly. There’s a whine of pain in his voice and Monty’s suddenly aching.

Miller _always_ wakes _Monty_ up from his nightmares.

He remembers, suddenly, seeing David today moving toward Miller with a grin on his face. “Nathan!” he’d called out, and Miller lit up in a soft, subtle way.

Monty takes a breath. _“_ _Nate_ _,”_ he whispers sharply, and Miller’s eyes fly open. He sits up at once, almost so fast that his forehead collides with Monty’s, and just breathes. “Hey,” Monty rushes. “You’re okay.”

Despite how long they’ve been doing this, Monty hasn’t had to give that much comfort. He’s never really sure what to say.

Miller curls in on himself and tries to steady his breathing. “I’m fine,” he rasps, his voice thick and gravelly, and Monty knows at once that Miller is Not Fine. “Just give me a second.” But Monty doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t like waiting. It’s painful for him to just sit here. Still, it’s what Miller asked, so he does.

Time passes. “Miller?” Monty reaches out, his fingers barely brushing Miller’s arm, when Miller looks up at him. It’s not fear in his eyes or frustration or anger, it’s _sadness_ _._ “Hey,” Monty says again. “What was it?”

Miller shakes his head and Monty slides his fingers over Miller’s forearm so Monty can hold onto him in some way. Miller’s eyes are somewhere else when he says, “My mom.”

Miller doesn’t speak about his mother often. Monty thinks maybe he feels guilty, seeing as Monty’s the one who ended his own mother’s life, so maybe Miller doesn’t want to drudge all that up again. Monty knows the story anyway. Miller’s mom was caught breaking some small, minor law. But with the Chief Guard as her husband she should’ve known better. They had to float her. Miller watched. He was only 10.

“Do you miss her?” Monty asks. Miller’s eyebrows pull together and he blinks hard, fighting sudden tears Monty realizes, before nodding. Without even thinking about it Monty tugs Miller toward him, pushing his head so Miller’s forehead is on Monty’s shoulder. Miller’s arms reach out, wrapping around Monty’s waist. The angle is awkward but Miller’s close to him, Monty with his arms cradling him, protecting him from this dark outside world, hoping he can make him feel safe. “It’s okay,” Monty whispers.

Miller turns, just slightly, so he nuzzles into Monty’s neck. He can feel Miller’s breath on his skin, hot and uneven, and Monty just keeps him close. “Sorry,” he manages. Monty doesn’t speak. He only shushes him softly and holds him tight.

* * *

Nate’s exhausted. Today was a long one. Nothing spectacular happened, no dramatic cases to handle or particularly difficult people to spar with. It was just _long._

When he returns to his father’s office at the end of the day to clock out, David’s waiting for him at his desk. Nate starts shedding his weaponry, an eyebrow arched, matching David’s arched eyebrow as well.

“Something wrong?” Nate asks.

“Potentially,” David answers. Nate’s other eyebrow joins the first, high on his forehead. He waits. “Monty Green,” David finally says.

Nate’s not prepared for the way his stomach turns to acid. “What about him? Is he okay?”

“How long were you going to wait before _telling me_ _,”_ David says, finally extending his hands, palms up, to his desk. “Clarke tells me that you two have been together for months!”

With the fear that something had happened to Monty now gone, Nate can appropriately respond. And by appropriately respond, his entire face turns red.

“Clarke should mind her own business,” Nate mutters, hanging his gun back up on the wall where it belongs. “Monty and I aren’t together.”

“You _live_ together,” David points out.

“Sort of.”

Monty’s still technically registered at his old quarters that he shares with Jasper, despite the fact that Nate’s pretty sure he only goes there to visit. Most of his things are packed neatly in Nate’s drawers and his toothbrush is in the bathroom and he has blueprints scattered absolutely everywhere.

“You sleep together,” David says.

Again, Nate’s face is burning. “We sleep _\--_ _beside_ each other, Dad,” he says, trying to figure out the words. “Monty has nightmares.” David doesn’t look like he believes him so Nate adds, “And so do I.”

David looks sad to hear this. They’ve never been the closest, the Millers, but Nate does like to be honest with his father when he can. “Do you need meds?” he asks. “Have you talked to Abby?”

“I don’t need meds,” Nate tells him. “I just--need someone there. And Monty does that.”

David nods slowly. “I see.” Nate would normally leave now. Say goodnight. But it feels like David’s waiting to say something. “I was hoping for more,” he finally admits. “I want you to be happy, Nate.”

Nate shrugs. “I am happy.”

“I want you to have someone,” David elaborates.

Nate finds himself looking at the ground. He reaches up, scratching his forehead. “I have Monty,” he says. David rolls his eyes, but he looks fond. “It’s--” Nate hesitates. He owes his father honesty. “It’s not what I want it to be,” he admits. “But I’m happy.”

 _“Oh_ _,”_ David says, realizing.

They’re not together, though they’re sharing a bed and practically living with one another. But not because Nate doesn’t want them to be.

Nate swallows before nodding slightly. “Yeah.”

“Have you told him?” David asks, to which Nate shakes his head. He doesn’t want to make things awkward. “You’ll never know,” David says. “Not unless you tell him.”

“I know,” Nate answers. He takes a deep breath but starts back for the door, waving his hand slightly. “I’ll see you, Dad.”

“Take a chance, Son,” David calls after him. “It might be worth the risk!”

* * *

Most mornings when they wake, Monty or Miller will climb out before the other. There are some awkward untanglings that Monty has to manage, he supposes that Miller does as well, but it’s routine at this point. It’s unspoken, but Monty thinks that waking up twisted together under the sheets, lingering around after that, might make things awkward.

But today when Monty wakes, he wants to linger. He isn’t sure why or what’s changed, but he’s awake before Miller is and he doesn’t want to move.

Sunlight is streaming through the window and the room feels warm. Miller looks at peace. His eyelashes are long and curled and gentle. He looks young and comfortable. He doesn’t _look_ like a Miller. He looks like a Nathan. Like a Nate.

Monty reaches out, his fingers hovering just over Miller’s skin, and Monty misses this. He misses mornings with someone he loves, hesitant to get out of bed, unwilling to unwrap themselves from one another.

 _Clarke’s pretty sure he’s into you_ _,_ Jasper had said.

 _Haven’t you thought about it?_ Raven had asked.

Monty thinks about it now. About capturing Miller’s lips and kissing him, pressing him down into the mattress, wrapping his legs around Miller’s hips. It makes Monty feel hot in a way he’s not prepared to. His entire chest flushes, his fingertips feel like they’re burning.

Miller’s _excellent_ _._ He’s always been a great friend, supportive and kind, albeit a bit snarky. His smirk has cut straight to Monty's core more than once. It’s just--he’s _Miller_. Right? Miller is Miller. Miller works for the guard and fights off every simple smile that falls his way.

But Miller is also Nathan, Nate. A boy who reads classic literature in his spare time, who reads stories to Monty to help him fall asleep. He’s opened his bed for Monty so the can lie together and fight off nightmares side by side. He has that softer side, that careful side that he rarely lets people see.

And wow--gosh, is he beautiful.

What constitutes a crush? Everythings gotten a little blurry what with the sharing of the bed, and the holding each other at night when they’re both shaking, and the whispering by one another’s temples of _you’re okay, I’ve got you, you’re okay_.

More than anything, Monty wants to brush his fingers over Miller’s skin now. The space above his eyebrows. The line of his jaw.

Suddenly, Miller sighs, shifting slightly closer in his sleep. Close enough that his nose nearly brushes Monty’s. Monty licks his lips. He’s only really ever kissed Harper. She was all soft curves and soft skin and soft lips. Miller’s are chapped, Monty can see from up close. And his stubble isn’t quite long enough to be anything but prickly. And Monty wants to know, in this moment, what a kiss from Miller would be like.

* * *

Nate’s fairly certain that Monty was awake earlier. He tends to wake up when Monty does most days, but Monty’s quick to jump out of bed, so Nate will keep his eyes shut for another few minutes just to be courteous.

But while Nate was waiting for Monty to get out of bed, he fell back asleep.

Nate’s awake now and Monty’s still in bed, absurdly close to him, like he’d purposefully moved closer. He’s nestled into Nate’s chest, fingers loosely gripping Nate’s sleep-shirt, breathing steadily.

Nate loves mornings. He’s always loved mornings, lazy in bed. Those were his favorite moments with Bryan, full of sleepy warm kisses and reluctance to move. Unable to stop himself Nate reaches up, brushing Monty’s hair from his forehead, smiling at the quiet breath Monty lets out.

Monty’s lips move, a whisper of a word there, when Nate hears it. His name.

_“Nate.”_

Nate’s hand freezes. He pulls away from Monty swiftly, edging his way back carefully before sliding over the edge of the bed and hurrying to the bathroom to splash water on his face.

As long as Nate stays Miller to Monty, then this is okay. The bed sharing is okay. It can continue to mean nothing. But if Monty’s going to start calling Nate, _Nate_ _,_ then it’s going to get hard. Because that means something’s changed. And if it’s not the way that Nate wants, it’s just going to hurt.

* * *

“You look well rested,” Clarke says as Monty sits across from her.

“I am,” Monty says. “Thanks.”

“Probably all of that Miller-snuggling that’s happening,” Bellamy says breezily by her side.

“Probably,” Monty agrees. Bellamy snorts and Monty redirects his attention to Clarke. “That’s, uh. Kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” Bellamy’s eyebrows lift and even Clarke has enough decency to look a little shocked. Monty hesitates. Looks from Bellamy to Clarke again. Monty’s never been very good at this. Finally, he clears his throat. “I’ve only been with Harper,” he says.

Clarke nods slowly and Bellamy’s eyebrows stay perched where they are.

“So you’re wondering…” Clarke trails off.

“I know people say they don’t care,” Monty says, looking down toward his hands. He should’ve brought something to tinker with. “But when people like _both_ there’s always--”

“Screw everybody else,” Bellamy says, cutting Monty off gently. “If you like both, then you like both.”

“What people think doesn’t change that,” Clarke agrees. She shrugs, smiling a little. “Both is good. Some things are different. Obviously. But if they make you feel the way you want to feel then what’s it matter?”

 _“Yeah_ _,”_ Monty says, dragging it out, “I _know_ _._ But.”

“But,” Bellamy echoes. He’s getting to the point that Monty’s afraid to make, the point he’s been dancing around. “It’s _Miller_ _._ Right?” Monty, still looking down, nods. “Hey, Miller’s my best friend. He’s a good guy, Monty.”

“Kind of an asshole,” Clarke says, “but after all the shit we’ve been through what else can you expect?”

Monty hesitates. “It’s not insane? Me and him?”

“Not at all,” Bellamy tells him with that steady, sure voice of his. Monty believes him.

Maybe he should say something to Miller.

Monty’s about to voice this, because making a vocal confirmation of Doing Something makes him more likely to do it, when sirens go off.

Bellamy’s on his feet at once and Clarke’s on alert, though she hasn’t moved. “What’s that?” Monty shouts over the noise, still not sure of all the different warning signals. This one’s louder than most, almost more urgent.

“Grounders,” Clarke answers.

* * *

Everything happens so suddenly that it isn’t until it’s all said and done can Nate really process it.

It’s dusk, meaning the sun is already setting and shadows are already playing tricks on his mind, when a group of ten or so Grounders attack. There are arrows flying through the air and a battle cry that sounds strangely animal like and before Nate knows it he’s bleeding and his arm is burning and his training kicks into action without even thinking about it.

He’s in medbay now but his ears are still ringing.

“Raven,” Nate growls, swatting her hand away. She’s practically pouting at him. Raven’s the one who basically grabbed him by his ear and forced him onto his feet while Bellamy dragged away the handcuffed culprits. They were Azgeda so they’d be shipped off to Roan to deal with as the treaty outlined. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

“You’re not fine,” Raven snaps back. “You got shot at with fucking arrows.”

“It barely grazed me,” Nate mutters, to which she starts fussing with his wound again. Abby’s tending to the more serious things currently and Nate’s arm is only burning a little and he can wait until other people are feeling better to feel better himself. Getting shot at is kind of part of the job. They must’ve laced them with something because Nate’s arm is burning up. “God. I fucking hate grounders.”

Raven snorts, reaching for some bottle of something that’s probably going to sting when she pours it on his cut. “Yeah, I know.”

“Fuck I know we have an alliance and all that now but fuck.”

“Fuck,” she repeats.

“Oh--fuck, Reyes!” Yes, the weird bottle that she’s pouring on him stings. He knows it’ll disinfect whatever weird shit the grounders put on the arrow, but God it burns. “Warn a guy!” Raven smirks and keeps dabbing at his cut. “You’re not even medically trained!”

“Eric’s taught me some stuff.”

“Oh, of course, _Eric.”_

“Fuck off, Miller.”

“You two,” Abby calls over her shoulder as she wraps a bandage around a man’s arm. “Stop with the language!”

 _“Stop with the language,”_ Raven echoes in a soft, whispery, mocking voice, pulling a smile out of Nate that hasn’t wanted to show face ever since he got _shot at_. “Rogue grounders are stupid,” Raven says. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure I’m okay,” Nate confirms.

“Let me grab a bandage.”

“Yes, do the pouring and the stinging without having a bandage ready,” Nate mutters, causing Raven to snort again.

She’s barely gone for a second when there’s a flash of color and then-- _oof_ \--Monty’s there. Nate isn’t really even sure what’s happening. All he knows is Monty is holding onto him, his arms wrapped around him tightly here, in public, in the daytime, not in bed, practically shaking as though he’s just had a panic attack. He came out of absolutely no where, and how he found Nate in medbay so easily is beyond him.

But he’s still shaking.

“Monty,” Nate says softly. “Hey, look at me.” Monty pulls back, eyes wide and wet, and Nate reaches up on instinct to cup his cheek. “I’m fine,” he says gently. Monty leans into his hand, worry basically radiating out of him like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, and Nate brushes his thumb over Monty’s chin. _“_ _I’m fine_ _,”_ he says again.

“You’re not allowed to get hurt,” Monty demands.

“I’m not hurt. That bad.”

“Say it!”

“Aye aye,” Nate responds. “No getting hurt from me.”

Monty frowns at him. Raven, to Nate’s side, laughs into her hand. Monty jerks out of Nate’s grasp so he can frown at her, too.

“I was worried,” Monty finally says, stepping out of the way so Raven, with her new bandage, can tend to Nate’s wound.

“You missed all the fun stuff,” Raven says, finishing up patching Nate up. “Miller took out three of them barehanded.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Nate groans. “Reyes, shut up.” She grins, and Monty looks as though he isn’t sure he believes her. “I did my job,” Nate corrects carefully, not wanting Monty to get worried all over again but also kind of wanting to confirm Raven’s truth. He’s gotten a lot better at sparring since they first landed. “No one was killed, we’ve got people in lock up. Life goes on.”

Monty takes a step back toward Nate, extending his hand to poke him in the chest. “You’re not allowed to get hurt,” Monty repeats, a little sharper this time, and Nate nods immediately.

* * *

That night, Monty lingers in the sitting area. He’s pretending to tinker, hoping it eases some of the stress that’s wound tightly in his chest. It’s not working. It’s way past his normal bedtime and Miller’s probably pretty confused as to why Monty’s still away but whatever.

“Monty?” he finally hears. He turns, finding Miller standing with his hands in the pockets of his flannel pants. “You mad at me?” he asks.

Monty looks back toward his device. “No,” he says.

“You sure? Because it feels like you’re mad at me.” Monty sighs, setting down what he’s been tinkering with before turning to look at Miller again. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face now, warm and hesitant and almost a little sad, that does strange things to Monty’s stomach. “It’s not like I asked to get shot at today,” he says.

“I know,” Monty says. He _knows_ that. “I’m just…” he trails off, shaking his head a little. “I thought we were safer.”

“We’re plenty safe,” Miller tells him. “No one died. We apprehended the group. It’s being taken care of.” Monty’s still frowning. “I did my job,” Miller says. “A job which still exists because we knew there would be people unhappy about the alliance. This was always a possibility.”

“Well I don’t like it,” Monty snaps.

“And I don’t like you being mad at me over something I had little control over,” Miller counters, still gently. When did Miller learn how to be so gentle with him? “Now come to bed.”

Monty sighs, pushing himself off the couch and slowly lumbering after Miller. He’s still got his arm wrapped in a bandage, the second one from today because the first bled through, and that makes Monty boil with anger he doesn’t need. Again, not at Miller. Just at everything.

The climb into bed, keeping to their own sides, and fall asleep in silence.

Surprisingly, it’s not Monty who has a nightmare that night.

Monty wakes to the sound of the shower running and sits up with a start. Miller, by his side, is missing. Monty scrubs his hands over his eyes and frowns at the spot beside him. His hand reaches out and he’s surprised to find Miller’s pillow damp. _Sweat._

Fury builds up inside Monty almost immediately, which must mean sleeping hadn’t done much to cool him off. Why didn’t Miller wake him? That’s the whole reason they’re doing this thing, this bed-sharing thing, this comfort-helping thing. This is why they climb into the same bed at night. So when nightmares pull them from their rest they can _talk_ _._ So they can _have_ someone.

Monty climbs out of bed, still scrubbing at his eyes, and goes straight for the closet to replace the linens. By the time he’s replaced all of the sheets and pillow cases, Miller leaves the bathroom dressed in something new. Monty’s sitting on the edge of the bed with a frown on his face.

“You’re awake?” Miller asks.

“No thanks to you,” Monty mutters. “What the _hell_ _,_ Miller?” Miller blinks, his face somewhere between purposefully blank and slightly confused, and Monty throws his hands up in the air. “Did you have a nightmare?” Miller’s eyes dart somewhere else. _“_ _Miller_ _,”_ Monty nearly growls.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You were sweating so much that you had to shower off,” Monty says, trying not to snap and failing. “That feels pretty significant. That feels like something you should wake me for.” Despite the fact that Monty is putting as much concern into his words as he can, Miller looks unaffected. He’s still looking somewhere else. As though the fact that Monty cares so much about him doesn’t mean a thing. “What’s the point of this, then?” Monty demands.

Finally, Miller looks up. “Point of what?”

“This--arrangement,” Monty says, attempting to find a word for it. “This nightmare comfort. If you don’t bother waking me, then--”

“Because I don’t need to talk about it,” Miller cuts him off. At least he’s still looking at Monty. And at least there’s some semblance of feeling in his words. “You--Monty, you talk about your nightmares because it helps it you. What helps me is just…” he trails off, swallowing “I just need someone beside me,” Miller says. “You give me that.”

It doesn’t feel like enough for Monty, but there’s something in his brain telling him not to push it. Monty _knows_ he needs more than that, more than having someone by his side. He _needs_ to talk about it. If he doesn’t he’ll explode. But Miller might not be like that. He says that he’s not like that. So Monty’s not going to push. Much.

“Was it about today?” he asks. “The Grounders?”

“Not really,” Miller mutters.

“Not really?” Monty repeats. He waits a moment. He decides to ask one final time. “You don’t want to talk about it?” he confirms.

“No,” Miller answers. No hesitation. Just one soft syllable. Monty sighs, but he nods. He won’t make Miller do this. They’re both silent for a moment. Finally Miller clears his throat. “Thanks,” he murmurs. “For understanding.” He tips his head toward the bed. “And changing the sheets.” Monty lets out a long breath. “You done raising your voice at me, or…?”

“Get in bed,” Monty murmurs. Miller climbs back into bed and without even waiting for him to get comfortable Monty settles down right beside him, tugging Miller close enough that his cheek is resting on Monty’s chest by his shoulder. Miller opens his mouth, confusion all over his face and a protest on his tongue, when Monty shushes him. “Sleep,” Monty says.

“Monty--”

“And wake me, next time,” he whispers. He reaches down, his fingers carefully tracing from Miller’s ear down to his jaw, and Miller shudders.

“I will,” Miller rasps. Monty believes him.

* * *

Nate wakes before Monty, still nestled with him. Nate’s not used to being the one cuddled. Normally Monty has his back flush against Nate’s chest, not the other way around. Nate can’t say that he minds. He can feel Monty’s breath against his neck, steady, meaning he’s still asleep. It would be easy for Nate to close his eyes and drift back to sleep like this. Monty’s arms aren’t incredibly big or strong, but there’s a sense of security being wrapped up in him anyway.

Still, Nate knows he can’t linger. Not with Monty’s sudden sense of urgency, with his sudden need for intimacy. It’s frightening. Because Nate knows that perhaps they’re close to something and he _wants it_. But it has to be right. It can’t be because of anger or fear or anything like that. It has to be _right._

So Nate takes a deep breath and, as fast as he can, slides out of Monty’s grasp.

It doesn’t work quite as well as Nate wants it to. Instead, Monty wakes up, sitting up straight and rubbing at his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asks, his words slurring together and making him sound drunk.

“I have work,” Nate says.

Monty makes a rather alarmed noise. _“_ _What_ _?”_ he rasps. “You--Nate, you just got shot at, and I think--” Nate whirls around at the use of his name in the daytime, when a nightmare hasn’t occurred. _Nate_ _._ Monty, seeming to have realized what he’s said, or maybe just frozen at the look of shock on Nate’s face. “You deserve a day of rest, Miller!”

“Don’t do that,” Nate murmurs.

Monty reaches up, still rubbing his eye. “Do what?”

“You can call me Nate,” he says, and now he’s feeling urgent too. Like he needs Monty to understand this. Monty drops his hand from his face. “You don’t have to switch back when you think it’s awkward. It’s not.” Monty leans back on his palms, looking up at Nate with wide eyes, with his lips parted. “You can call me Nate,” he repeats.

Something passes over Monty’s face before clears his throat. “You sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” Nate whispers.

“Okay. Well. Nate. Get the hell back in bed.”

Nate laughs, feeling hysterical, and shakes his head. “I can’t. I need to work.”

“For me,” Monty nearly begs. Any sort of anger or frustration that lingered from the night before must’ve disappeared with Nate’s laugh. Monty flings himself across the bed, practically crawling in Nate’s direction, blankets flying all over the place. _“_ _Please.”_

“Monty, no,” Nate says, another laugh.

“Why are you so annoying?” he asks, and again Nate laughs. “And stubborn? Sometimes I hate you.”

“Only sometimes?” Nate jokes.

Monty throws a pillow at him in response.

* * *

The entire situation with Nate getting shot at and Monty clutching him tightly in the middle of the night seems to pass without any real incidence. Nate gets his bandage removed and there’s going to be a scar, but it’s no big deal. The Grounders are transferred away. The only real proof that something’s happened, that something’s changed, is Monty still calls him Nate.

That, and when Monty shows up with a stack of papers in his hands.

“What’s that?” Nate asks.

“Address change forms,” Monty murmurs, flipping through them as he sits on the couch, squinting as though he needs another light to be turned on. Nate tenses, but if Monty notices he doesn’t react. “I don’t understand why it has to be so complicated,” he says. “Census reasons, I guess,” he carries on. “Or whatever. But God it’s annoying.”

Nate clears his throat. “Address change forms?” he asks.

Monty looks up at him, paling, and shrugs. “I, um.” He looks back down to the paper in front of him. “Yeah,” Monty says. He shrugs as Nate’s heartbeat picks up in his chest. “I mean, c’mon, Nate we both know that I live here. No point in denying it.” He gestures widely toward the room. “I mean my stuff’s _everywhere.”_

“Yeah,” Nate murmurs. “But I thought it was just until…” he trails off, needing Monty to understand where his thoughts are going without actually saying them.

Monty blinks. _Until the nightmares were over_ _._ They’ve just been doing this for a few months now, and it really doesn’t look like there’s any end in sight.

“Oh.” He swallows. He lowers the papers. “Should I not…?”

“No, I just--”

If Monty makes it official, if he submits this official piece of paper to the main office at Arkadia that keeps track of these things, then it’s _official_ _._ Then he and Monty are really living together.

Then it’s something more than nightmare comfort.

They’re looking at each other now, Monty with his warm brown eyes and Nate probably looking something just under terrified.

“I can not hand it in,” Monty rushes suddenly, moving the papers out of his lap completely. “I mean I just figured that--all of my stuff’s here anyway,” he says.

“Is that the only reason?” Nate asks.

Without pause Monty answers, “No.”  

There’s no elaboration. Still, Nate’s heart beats faster.

There’s a conversation that they need to have. But instead, Nate tips his head at the papers. “Go for it,” he whispers.

The smile that lights Monty’s face is dizzying.

* * *

“You should come,” Raven says.

Monty looks toward Nate and Nate’s looking at Bellamy and everyone is quiet. Nate coughs to clear his throat. Monty ignores the implication in Raven’s words.

She and Jackson are going on a day trip to a nearby lake, and they invited Bellamy and Clarke, and as of just a few moments ago Monty and Nate were invited too. As a package deal.

 _As a couple_ _,_ Monty thinks.

“I might have to work,” Nate murmurs, his voice sounding rough and gravelly.

“I have stuff too,” Monty lies.

They’re just _not_ a couple, not yet, and being with other couples for an entire day feels like it’s forcing them into something without them really getting there yet. Monty has a plan, anyway.

“Your loss,” Bellamy cheers.

* * *

It’s a rare morning where neither of them have to work and Nate doesn’t want to get out of bed. He knows he shouldn’t, knows that they still have to define whatever it is that they are now before he does things like this, but Nate’s been tracing small, soft patterns on Monty’s back. They’re both awake. They just haven’t moved.

“No bad dreams,” Monty whispers.

That’s true, too. “Not for a while,” Nate whispers back. Not since the Grounder attack. Since then they’ve also started pulling each other closer, waiting until the lights are off before wrapping their arms around one another. It’s happened before but it’s different now, somehow.

Words are burning in the back of Nate’s throat.

The silence stretches on. Nate’s hand shifts from Monty’s back, up to his hair, and Monty moves too, his hand draped across Nate’s waist as though silently commanding him to stay where he is.

They stay like that, Nate toying the ends of Monty’s hair, Monty resting his forehead on Nate’s shoulder, for a long time. It isn’t until Monty’s hands on Nate’s sides slowly, almost shyly, slip under Nate’s shirt so he can touch Nate’s skin, do either of them speak.

“Monty,” he whispers. Monty hums in response. Nate has to say something. “You remember my nightmare the other night?” he asks. Monty doesn’t answer, he just presses his fingers into Nate’s hips. “It was you,” Nate rasps. “My nightmare. It was about you.”

Monty tips his head slightly. His breath is warm and distracting against Nate’s skin. “What about me?” Monty asks.

There’s no use in lying, not now, not with the two of them so close like this. If it makes Monty uncomfortable he can always leave, but Nate’s pretty sure it won’t. So Nate tells the truth.

“I lost you.”

It was awful, the way Nate’s nightmare unraveled. It hadn’t been himself being shot at but rather others. He had to watch from a distance as an arrow pierced Monty, taking him down. No matter how fast he ran Nate couldn’t reach him. No matter how loud he shouted Monty couldn’t hear him. Monty died, alone on the ground, without Nate ever telling him how he felt.

Monty pulls back but still holds tight, his eyes wide as he looks at Nate. For a moment, Nate thinks he’ll want details. He’ll want the explanation. But Monty only blinks, almost knowingly, before he tilts his chin forward and catches Nate’s lips with his own.

The surprise that comes with kissing Monty fades quickly, seeing as he’s _kissing Monty_ and Monty’s kissing him _back_. Nate lifts his hand to cradle Monty’s cheek and every moment their lips part Monty’s already chasing after him to keep kissing him. His lips are warm and his mouth is wet Monty holds tight to him, even when Nate decides that the way they’re laying is too difficult and he moves, pressing Monty down on their bed and changing the angle to deepen the kiss.

Monty’s legs part and Nate finds himself settling between them, rocking forward just enough to elicit a gasp from Monty that could cause a mountain to shed its skin and send rocks tumbling down. _Wait, wait_ _._ Nate pulls back and pins his forehead to Monty’s, who waits, too. It takes Nate a moment to find his voice, lost somewhere between his rapidly beating heart and his lungs that won’t fill with air fast enough.

“I want more than nightmare comfort,” Nate finally says. “I want…”

“This,” Monty picks up where Nate leaves off. He tips up, a kiss between them. “Me too.”

A crooked smile takes Nate’s face. “For awhile,” he rasps.

Monty’s grinning now too. “Uh-huh,” he agrees.

The urge to laugh is not easily swallowed. “What _took us_ so long?” Nate asks after Monty tips up for another kiss. Monty answers that with laughter too and then both of them are smiling, laughing, desperate breaths exchanged between the two of them between their lips. Making out with Monty Green feels like a dream. “Thought you didn’t want to sleep together?” Nate breathes.

Monty whines, arching backwards a little as Nate breaks away to nip across Monty’s chin. “I know you probably think I’m some super genius,” he exhales as Nate mouths across Monty’s collarbone, sucking hard every once in awhile hoping it leaves a mark. “Adept at planning and strategy or whatever. But there’s no way I planned this. At all. This was not the--” a gasp “ _\-- plan.”_

“Super genius,” Nate laughs into Monty’s throat. His teeth graze his skin and Monty shudders before yanking Miller back up for another kiss. “Mm.”

“Ugh,” Monty groans, pushing at the hem of Nate’s shirt. “Freaking--take this _off_ already.” Nate’s not sure he’s ever going to stop grinning. He reaches down tugging at his shirt enough that his stomach is revealed while still trying to kiss Monty at the same time, but Monty hurries his hands along. “Yep. Yeah, that’s better.”

With yet another laugh Nate pulls away so he can tug the whole thing up and over his head.

“You’re so dramatic,” Nate murmurs, bending down again. But the feeling of Monty’s hands on his bare skin is insane and Nate’s breath catches in his throat.

With a force that Nate’s not prepared for, Monty rolls the two of them so Nate’s the one on his back. Monty gives him one more kiss before making his way slowly down Nate’s body. A kiss to the hollow of his throat. Another to the center of his chest. A trail of kisses down Nate’s stomach.

Monty looks up at him as he gets even lower, his eyes burning, and licks his lips.

Nate’s moaning before Monty even touches him.

* * *

Monty wakes with a start.

It’s a few nights later, a few nights after they’ve kissed and cleared things up between the two of them and listened to the relentless cheers and laughter and teasing from their friends, and Nate’s side of the bed is empty.

Monty’s heart throttles into his stomach and he sits up, scanning, until he finds Nate already on his way back to bed. He hasn’t turned any lights on and the air of the room doesn’t feel unsettled, but still Monty worries.

“Nate?” he asks.

Nate settles onto the edge before sliding back under the blankets. “Mm?” Nate hums. He reaches out for Monty, gesturing for Monty to lie back down, before Nate pulls him flush against his chest.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Monty asks. “I told you to wake me.”

“I didn’t,” Nate answers. He nuzzles into Monty’s neck before nipping at his throat. “Just needed some water.”

Monty sighs, feeling the tension ease out of him. “You’d wake me,” he whispers. “Right?”

Nate kisses him again, his lips warm against Monty’s neck. “Of course,” Nate whispers back.

Monty’s quiet for a moment, the rhythmic breathing from his boyfriend about to lull him back to sleep, when words crawl up his throat anyway. “Today was good,” he wonders, “right?”

Nate laughs, soft, still like a whisper and their bed is their own private place. “You having dinner with me and my dad is not nightmare worthy, Monty,” he says. “Yes. Today was good. Today was _great.”_

“Well I don’t know,” Monty argues, but he’s smiling. He rolls in Nate’s arms and nudges Nate’s chin with his nose. “Maybe it stressed you out. Or David hates me.”

Nate laughs again. “No. My dad’s very fond of you.” Monty tips forward to capture Nate’s lips, feeling happiness literally manifest inside of his chest at the feeling of Nate’s mouth curving into a smile when they part. “As am I.”

Monty kisses him again. “So no nightmares?” he asks.

“No nightmares,” he answers.


End file.
